


A Given Thing

by Sass_Master



Series: Dream of Now [9]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dom/sub, Edgeplay, Established Relationship, Exhibitionism, Facials, Future Fic, Human Castiel, M/M, Masturbation, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Spanking, Sub Dean, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-10
Updated: 2016-10-10
Packaged: 2018-08-20 14:21:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8252263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sass_Master/pseuds/Sass_Master
Summary: They’ve skirted this line before, fallen almost accidentally into those moments where Cas blurts out an order and Dean falls all over himself to comply. They’ve never followed that thread so far before, and Dean’s not totally sure what that means.But he was—he was so into it, and he’s actually pretty okay with that. He would’ve tried to steer things in this direction himself if he could think of any way to say, “Hey, if you bossed me around in bed a little, that’d be cool,” that wasn’t completely mortifying.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Bless you, Ash, for the typo check.

The first day of a case often drags, but it’s not just the usual fatigue from routine interviews and fruitless research that has Dean breathing an exaggerated sigh when he and Cas finally step into their shared motel room. Cas has been in a _mood_ all day, the kind where every time he glances in Dean’s direction it sends a tingle up his spine – lingering, heated looks that seem to promise _Later,_ when they’re finally alone, when they can drop the guise of friendly professionalism and go back to being themselves.

Or maybe that’s just Dean; maybe he’s only projecting his own irrepressible desires, telegraphing his ever-increasing desperation to have Cas all to himself for a while. He needs so much more of Cas’s hands on him than a fleeting clap on the shoulder. Dean’s been captivated by Cas all day, looking on with affection as he so kindly reassured the worried next of kin, then with a possibly-inappropriate surge of lust as Cas brought out the tough guy routine to intimidate a difficult, shifty-eyed witness. Dean’s shamefully easy for Cas either way.

Dean wastes no time spreading himself out on the mattress once he and Cas walk through the door, his shoes, tie and jacket hastily discarded, trying not to squirm as the beginnings of arousal suffuse through him, the need that’s been simmering all day freely bubbling over now that they have privacy and time.

Cas, to Dean’s dismay, is showing no efforts to make good on any unspoken promises. He’s puttering around still dressed, sifting through case notes and occasionally tapping something out on the laptop. Dean perks up when Cas strips off his jacket and loosens his tie. He catches sight of Dean sprawled out on the bed, looking pleased by what he sees, but he merely unbuttons his shirt cuffs and rolls up the sleeves – the worst kind of tease right now – and doesn’t pick up the pace at all.

Dean clears his throat and Cas’s eyes lock onto his for a moment before languidly traveling along Dean’s body, and Dean swears he can almost feel Cas’s gaze like the physical touch he’s so needy for. He’s got Cas now, he’s almost _sure_ of it, but then Cas turns away to rummage through their files again, and Dean actually groans in frustration. He drags a hand across his face, exasperated, then lets it wander down his neck and across his chest, skating across his stomach.

He clears his throat, louder this time, and Cas looks up again. “If you don’t hurry up I’m gonna start without you,” Dean says, arching an eyebrow. He licks his lips and Cas tracks the movement, eyeing Dean’s mouth. Dean feels victorious now that he’s caught Cas’s interest – that only turns him on more, planting his feet wide and running his hand up his thighs, letting the warmth in his belly pool between his legs, spurred on by his own impatient touch.

His threat is pure bluster, an obvious bluff – being with Cas is well worth waiting for, and, well, sometimes it’s even better when the tension has a chance to build before they act on it. Dean’s got a suspicion that Cas likes making him wait, might even be doing it on purpose at the moment and, well, Dean might like that a little bit too.

Cas stares at Dean in consideration. “All right,” he says eventually, voice deep and agreeable and god, fucking _finally_. Dean’s expecting Cas to join him any second, climb onto the mattress and press him down. Dean’s looking forward to that, traces his fingertips up his thighs again, eyes slipping closed, imagining Cas’s solid weight on top of him, anticipating his hands touching Dean all over. It’s a beat too long with nothing, and Dean’s wondering what the hell the holdup is when Cas chimes in again. “Let’s see it.”

Dean’s eyes snap open. It could almost sound casual, as if Cas is joking, but— “What?” Dean asks, licking his lips again.

“Start without me,” Cas replies, calm as you please, and takes a seat in the chair facing the bed.

Dean doesn’t miss the challenge in Cas’s eyes and he makes an attempt to match it, even though he’s admittedly a little thrown off here. “And what are you gonna do?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. “You just gonna sit there?” Dean can’t fucking believe this – he’s about two seconds from dragging Cas onto the bed or at least climbing into the chair with him because _goddammit_ , he’s been waiting all day for this and Cas has decided he wants to play games.

“I’m going to sit here,” Cas allows, “And I’m going to watch you.”

And okay, yeah, Dean kinda figured that’s where Cas was going with this, but hearing him say it out loud, seeing the unabashed hunger on his face… maybe Dean’s not as put out over Cas messing with him as he thought. He’s very aware that Cas has a certain weakness for this, loves to drink in the picture Dean makes when he’s red-faced and writhing from pleasure; it was probably only a matter of time before they made a real thing of it. The way Cas’s eyes are roaming Dean’s body has him pinned in place, definitely feeling more charitable towards this idea than he was at first because yeah, Dean really _likes_ it when Cas looks at him that way.

Cas leans forward when Dean doesn’t respond. “What would you do? To _start_ ,” he prompts, words pitched low and smooth the way he’s learned – to Dean’s chagrin and delight – never fails to drive Dean crazy. “Would you take your clothes off?” he suggests, hardly giving Dean a chance to answer, and it’s difficult to tell if Cas is being a little shit or if he’s genuinely curious.

Truth be told, if Dean really were just getting a head start, so to speak, he probably wouldn’t strip down right away, knowing Cas will want to get involved and peel him reverently out of his clothes – or tear them off, depending on the day. On the other hand, if Dean were actually flying solo here, he might not bother getting fully undressed at all, just shoving as much clothing out of the way as he needed to get at his dick, to bring himself off quick and dirty. So he could just open his pants and slide his hand in like he’s done so many times before, but if he’s being _really_ honest, there are times when he luxuriates in it a bit more, enjoying the sensation of his own skin under his hands, drawing the experience out, indulging himself a little.

Ultimately, Dean feels safe assuming that Cas must have brought it up for a reason, so if it’s a _show_ he’s after, Dean’ll give him one. Cas is looking at him expectantly, and, well, Dean doesn’t like to disappoint.

He gets to work unbuttoning his shirt, slowing down at the sound of Cas’s approving hum. He tosses the shirt on the floor and takes his time unbuckling his belt and unzipping his pants, dragging his boxers off with them and kicking them out of the way. He’s hard now – not all the way there, but the need is significantly more urgent than it was before, and he feels it burn brighter as Cas shifts in his seat, an appraising look in his eye, lips quirked.

Dean’s fingers creep along his hip and over his belly, inching back down towards his cock, but he finds himself holding back at the last minute, even though he wants it, _bad_ , longing for touch even if it’s just his own. He glances at Cas, hesitating, not even sure why he does it, but it’s a comfort and a thrill when Cas smiles, encouraging and a little bit smug, and murmurs, “ _Go on._ ”

Dean’s almost not sure how to proceed at first. He’s no stranger to jerking himself off, obviously.  It’s not even anything he hasn’t done in front of Cas before, but those occasions usually arise towards the end of their activities, when Cas is already spent and Dean’s still strung out and desperate to come. Dean’s never really made a performance of it like this before, but Cas’s focus is so keenly fixed on him and _yeah_ , he wants to give Cas something to _look at_.

He teases himself at first (and Cas too, he hopes) keeping his touch light, coaxing himself to full aching hardness with only a few half-hearted strokes – that’s how much this whole thing is doing it for him, apparently.

But he can only hold back for so long, and he moans in relief when his fingers finally close around his erection properly, feeling it pulse in his hand. He’s spurred on by a noise of appreciation from Cas and quickly starts up a rhythm. He’s not sure he could drag this out any more even if he wanted to.

It’s not long before he really starts to get into it, closing his eyes and pushing into his hand, the suppressed desire that’s been plaguing him since they set out this morning finally catching up to him. It’s a little rough without anything to ease the way, but it’s just the right amount of friction, exactly what he needs right now. He sighs shakily as he thumbs the wet tip of his dick, picking up speed because it’s already so _good_ with Cas watching him like this, so much more intense than it would be without a captive audience.

“Dean.”

Dean bites back a whimper at the sound of his name, arousal suddenly spiking. It startles him out of his rhythm and he scrambles to pick it back up again, eyes opening and seeking out Cas’s face.

Cas tilts his head, regarding Dean intently, but says nothing; apparently, he just wanted Dean’s attention.

Dean fidgets under the scrutiny. “Gonna _finish_ without you at this rate,” he grumbles.

“Then slow down,” Cas replies easily. “What’s the rush?”

Slowing down isn’t usually Dean’s forte when he’s this worked up, but this is the game Cas wants to play and Dean’s embarrassingly eager to go along with it. He forces his hand to slow, frustrated in the best way as the cresting pleasure ebbs away, a current coursing through him, kept at bay for the moment.

“That’s better,” Cas says quietly. “You look incredible,” he murmurs, hushed like it’s a secret. “I could watch you like this for hours.”

Dean flushes at the compliment, feels the blood rush the tips of his ears, sees the pink travel down his chest. He _does_ feel desirable like this, though, preening under Cas’s interested regard. “Feel free to jump in anytime,” he fires back, deflecting. “Don’t let me have all the fun.” He’s hoping to goad Cas into action, but the thought that this is all they’ll do tonight, that Cas will just sit and _look_ while Dean gets himself off, is hotter than he would’ve predicted. And Cas is clearly pretty into it too, Dean notices, shamelessly staring at the thick line of Cas’s cock in his suit pants.

Dean’s panting, sweat beading on his hairline, and it should be humiliating that he’s a mess and Cas still looks so put together, but he’s come to rely on that in Cas, needing Cas as an anchor when he feels like falling apart.

“You’re not the only one enjoying yourself, Dean. I’m—” He falters for a moment, and Dean can see him carefully choosing his words. “I’m so _hard_ for you,” he breathes at last, voice low and rough. He appears less unflappable now, lust breaking through the stoic façade, and Dean curses whatever part of his brain used to think that Cas talking dirty would be a disaster. Dean’s grown accustomed to Cas letting something slip out of the blue of when he’s especially worked up, that kind of untamed, filthy honesty he’s come to expect from Cas, but this is deliberate – Cas is _reveling_ in it, the way the right words can make Dean squirm even more than the touch of his own hand. He schools his face back into a faint smile when he sees the effect he’s having on Dean, tilting his head thoughtfully. “Do you want to see?” he rumbles. “Do you want to watch me too?”

Dean definitely wants to see what it’s doing to Cas to look at him like this, is certainly not opposed to the image of Cas’s giant hands touching his cock, but any potential answer Dean could summon up dies in his throat, lost on a sudden moan just at the _idea_ of it.

When he brings a hand up to stifle the noise, Cas softly implores, “Don’t. I want to hear you,” and Dean obeys without even thinking about, dropping his hand and fisting it in the bedspread, hips twitching off the mattress.

Dean wants to stroke himself faster, fighting to keep the pace Cas set, but he needs _something_ , so he lets his other hand slide up his chest to pinch a nipple instead.

He doesn’t miss the dark excitement in Cas’s eyes as he says, “Yes, like that,” apparently distracted from his own question as well, hand balled into a fist in his lap. “What else? What would you do if I weren’t here?”

“You _are_ here,” Dean replies petulantly, pouting all over again that Cas is still keeping his distance.

“Then what would you want _me_ to do?”

There’s a thousand ways Dean could answer that, but he’s struggling to hold Cas’s gaze, head swimming. “This,” he mumbles vaguely, and it’s a cop out of an answer, doesn’t scratch the surface of all that he wants, of what he’s craving most right now, but at least it’s true.

“Is that all you wanted tonight?” Cas asks with a note of insinuation, and Dean’s not entirely sure what he’s hinting at, but then Cas reaches into the duffel Dean left by the chair, pulls out the lube and tosses it onto the bed. It lands at Dean’s side with a soft thud and okay, Dean gets the implication now, and he’s definitely into it. He gasps and tightens his grip on his dick, feels it drip onto his fingers. “Show me,” Cas urges, fire in his eyes, and Dean’s starkly reminded what a ruthless tactician Cas is and _fuck_ , how lucky is Dean that this is what Cas chooses to apply his skills to nowadays.

Dean’s hands are shaking as he reaches for the bottle and uncaps it, coating his fingers sloppily before abandoning it, still open and likely oozing onto the bedding, but he couldn’t care less right now. He inches his feet further apart, all too aware of how exposed he is like this, and reaches between his spread legs, barely stopping to circle the sensitive skin with one finger before pushing inside.

His other hand wraps around his cock again – he has the feeling Cas was about to tell him to do so – and he tries to slip his finger deeper, crook it at the right angle. It’s shamefully gratifying to have at least _something_ inside of him, but it’s not nearly enough. He whines, needy, and starts to tease himself with a second finger, probably too soon, but then Cas says, “Not yet,” voice firm, and Dean’s helpless to resist.

He keeps going with one finger for as long as he can stand it, and when he tries to add another, Cas doesn’t stop him this time. He could cry at how good it feels, toes curling at the added stretch, contorted and totally on display for Cas, but after a while he growls in frustration again, can’t get the angle right and it’s _still not enough_. “Cas,” he says plaintively. “Get over here. Please?” He chokes on a moan, already reduced to begging. “ _Please_.”

His heart thuds when Cas finally rises from his seat and slowly stalks towards him. He joins Dean on the bed, but all he does is sit down beside him, lifting his hand to gently stroke Dean’s hair, peering down where Dean’s slick and stretched open. “Another,” he says, whispered against Dean’s temple, pressing a kiss there.

Dean complies, another low whine escaping his throat at the burn, grip tight on his cock, moving faster now. Cas doesn’t try to slow him down this time.

“Oh, Dean,” Cas says, hushed and reverent, fingers carding through Dean’s hair again. “You’re so close, aren’t you?”

Christ, he really is, and that wasn’t the purpose of all of this at the beginning, to get to this point from only his own hands, but he’s too far gone to care now. “I—please.” All his other vocabulary is melting away, and okay, yeah, maybe Dean’s been getting into it, showing off for Cas a little, but Dean still had _ideas_ for tonight.

“What do you want, Dean?”

Dean presses his lips together, feeling his blush flare up again, struggles to say it out loud, like always.

Cas’s eyes bore into his. “Do you want me to fuck you?” he suggests smoothly, meeting Dean halfway, as he often does when Dean can’t find it within him to voice his needs explicitly.

Dean’s stupidly grateful for the reprieve. “Yeah. Yes. Please,” he replies immediately, aware he’s bordering on babbling by now.

Cas usually relents here, but Dean notices the determination on his face. “If you want it,” Cas says, carefully at first, as if unsure, then gaining confidence, “Then you can ask for it.”

Dean lets loose a mildly hysterical laugh. “Cas,” he gasps, because he’s _got_ to be kidding. “C’mon.”

But Cas isn’t letting up. “You know I’ll give you anything you want,” Cas croons, and Dean’s lulled by Cas’s hand petting his hair, his deep, soft voice in Dean’s ear, “If you ask,” he clarifies, and there’s something wild about him right now, and it’s honestly exhilarating that Cas is getting a little carried away with this, that he’s comfortable enough to have fun with it.

“ _Cas_ ,” Dean whimpers, still working himself over, pleasure steadily mounting.

“Go on, Dean,” Cas says, finally undoing his belt and inching his zipper down, and Dean thinks he’s gonna fucking _die_ if he doesn’t get Cas’s dick inside him. “Tell me.”

“Fuck me,” Dean bites out, a frisson shooting through him as he gives in and says it. Cas finally draws his cock out, looking _pleased_ with him, gaze hot as he runs his fingers along his length, and all at once it’s too, much, it’s— “Fuck,” Dean gasps, back arching off the mattress, “Fuck, Cas, fuck me, _fuck me_ —” and his obscene litany gets cut off on a groan as he suddenly peaks, spilling over his fingers, coming in long spurts onto his belly.

“ _Oh_ ,” Cas groans in response, “Yes, that’s it.” And Dean can see through his haze of arousal that Cas is touching himself in earnest now, not so unaffected after all.

Cas lets out a rumbling moan, hand tight and fast on his cock – he wasn’t kidding, he’s so _hard_ for Dean, and Dean feels an absurd rush of pride that he brought Cas to such a state without even touching him. Cas leans in to kiss him thoroughly, a slick slide of tongues, the sharp nip of teeth. “Turn over,” he insists, almost a growl. “Let me give you what you asked for.”

Dean’s more than willing but his sated body is sluggish to obey. He rolls with it when Cas maneuvers him onto his stomach, parting his thighs so Cas can climb between. “C’mon, Cas, c’mon,” he mumbles into the bedspread, won’t really be satisfied until he feels Cas coming inside him.

Dean clutches a pillow while Cas drapes himself over his back and slides home, drives forward with single-minded focus. Nebulous snippets of praise slip from Cas’s mouth as he rocks into Dean steadily, sucks marks into his neck, and that lights something up inside Dean, might burn even brighter than the thrill he got from molding himself to Cas’s whims. Cas feels so good in him that Dean wishes he could come again, wonders if he actually _could_ , if only Cas told him to.

It doesn’t take much for Cas to go rigid, biting Dean’s shoulder, groaning through his own climax with a few frantic snaps of his hips, filling Dean up just the way he wanted.

Dean doesn’t mind the way Cas basically collapses on top of him, feels utterly wrung out and complete, could easily fall asleep with the weight of Cas’s body blanketing him, his mouth chastely kissing the back of Dean’s neck.

Eventually Cas peels himself away from Dean with a grunt, mattress dipping as he gets off the bed. Dean can hear the water running in the bathroom as he lies motionless, alone, the passion and intensity rapidly cooling, feeling _empty_. He starts to come back to reality, not even aware of how far Cas had driven him out of his own head until now, mind kicking back online and starting to race because that was—wow. Okay.

They’ve skirted this line before, fallen almost accidentally into those moments where Cas blurts out an order and Dean falls all over himself to comply – occasional flirtations with those ideas, an unintended but undeniably present undercurrent. But tonight it feels like they brought it to the forefront, indulged in their curiosity instead of shying away. They’ve never followed that thread so far before, and Dean’s not quite sure what that means.

But he was—he was so _into_ it, and he’s actually pretty okay with that. He would’ve thought he’d be ashamed of this, but it’s felt inevitable for a while now. He would’ve tried to steer things this way himself if he could think of any way to say, “Hey, if you bossed me around in bed a little, that’d be cool,” that wasn’t entirely mortifying.

When Cas returns with a washcloth, Dean rolls onto his back and looks at him carefully. He’s much more withdrawn than he was only a few minutes ago, a stark contrast from the way he was cockily running his mouth. Dean suspects that Cas’s mind is working overtime too – he can almost see the gears spinning beneath the surface. There’s something raw and electric, but still tentative, every time their eyes meet. It’s not awkward, exactly, just tense with possibility. With _potential_.

Cas busies himself getting them something to sleep in, urging Dean under the covers once they’re both dressed, on their sides, face to face. They lie there in charged silence for a while, flipping between staring at one another and letting their eyes dart away self-consciously. He can’t help but think that someone’s gotta say _something_ , and god knows he’s not one for taking initiative when it comes to talking about personal stuff, but it’s just… it’s exciting, like they’re on the precipice of something, and it feels weird and scary and _right_ and he doesn’t want to let it go. And in bed with Cas, warm and content, basking mid-afterglow, it makes him bold enough to try seizing the opportunity before it slips away.

“So,” he says, clearing his throat, “You like taking charge, huh.” Even Dean realizes what he’s doing, projecting everything onto Cas. Old habits, and all.

Cas stiffens, guilt flashing across his face. Dean figures it makes sense that Cas might feel a little weird about it, enjoying having Dean at his mercy (although the idea of it makes Dean’s heart pound, even now).

“Hey, it’s okay,” Dean says soothingly, reaching out to touch Cas’s arm, running his hand up and down the length of it. He never wants Cas to feel bad about this, about getting _into_ it because yeah, Dean’s so here for Cas losing himself in this too. He clears his throat again. “If you haven’t noticed, I’m kind of on board with that.” He pauses, feels his face heating. “Okay, _really_ on board,” he mumbles.

“I’ve noticed,” Cas affirms, fairly neutral, just a touch of amusement worming its way in.

“Yeah,” Dean says inanely, and they could just leave it there, but— “I mean it’s. You know, a thing. That people do.” Dean’s all too aware of that, has thought about it on numerous occasions, needing to stop himself before his mind wanders too far, unsure of what it would really be like if he and Cas got a little less vanilla. Experimental. The whole _whips and chains_ thing doesn’t feel right for them, for a myriad of reasons; Dean doesn’t think he _or_ Cas could really get into that. But there’s something about the way Dean bends to the command in Cas’s voice, to the power and control in his touch – that’s what Dean wants to explore, that’s the part that feels like everything he’s ever wanted, everything they’ve been steadily, almost unconsciously building towards.

Cas has always carried himself with an air of confidence in the bedroom, an utter lack of shame and self-consciousness that translated into something like _authority_ , molded itself to Dean’s tendency to go pliant and needy when pushed, weak-kneed for a bit of direction.

So many of Dean’s fantasies have centered around those traits, so much of what in reality made him moan that much louder, come that much harder, all under Cas’s relentlessly observant eye.

“I know it is,” Cas replies, expression inscrutable.

“The hell do you know about this stuff?” Dean mutters before he can stop himself. He expects an eye roll for his incredulity, but it seems like Cas just barely manages to restrain himself.

“I’ve… looked into it.”

And taken an interest, no doubt, if Dean had to guess by his tone. “What for?” Dean wonders aloud.

Cas shoots him a look, one that says they’re both aware of the answer to that question. He leans in further, fingers grazing Dean’s cheek, and responds anyway. “Because you like it when I tell you what to do.”

Dean flushes but sees no sense in denying it, despite the distinctive urge. “It’s not just me though, right?” he asks quietly, needing that reassurance that Cas is with him in this. He’s already wondering how deep Cas’s _research_ went, what he’d found that intrigued him, what he’d wanted to try.

“No,” Cas breathes, tilting Dean’s face towards his, kissing him thoroughly, “It isn’t.”

Dean sags into their next kiss with utter relief. “Okay,” he says at length, “That’s, um…” He wants to make things official somehow but _god_ , he’s starting to lose steam here.

Cas comes to his rescue of course, cupping Dean’s cheek, looking at him intently. “Do you want to do more of that? Like we did tonight?”

“Yeah,” Dean says instantly, trying and failing not to sound too gung-ho. “Not—not all the time, but…” He swallows, huddles closer to Cas. “I want to.”

And it turns out that talking about it may be a little awkward, no doubt nerve-wracking to acknowledge that side of himself out loud, but it’s not unbearable or humiliating. Not with Cas. Dean doesn’t know what it’ll be like going forward – probably Cas diving into more research, or putting what he knows to use now that everything’s out in the open, now that Dean is vocally expressing a desire for this, for _real_.

“All right,” Cas murmurs in agreement, still so very gentle with him, and that’s that then. Cas kisses him again, on his mouth, his cheek, his forehead, and Dean feels himself start to nod off under Cas’s gentle ministrations, goes with it easily when Cas pulls him into his arms. Cas holds him close, rubbing circles between Dean’s shoulder blades, pressing another kiss to the crown of his head. “I think we should follow up with the victim’s business partner tomorrow,” Cas says through a yawn. “I’m convinced that he’s hiding something.”

Dean says, “Definitely suspicious as hell,” or some exhaustion-slurred approximation, fast asleep before he can hear Cas’s reply.

*   *   *

They don’t speak about it for a while after that, though Dean definitely hasn’t forgotten about it. He’s even willing to bet that Cas hasn’t forgotten about it either, but he’s not sure if it’s the same for Cas, if he’s feeling that same knot of anticipation form in his stomach. Dean can’t get it out of his head.

They carry on as usual together without that element, falling back into the familiar ease they’ve always shared in bed, the natural way their bodies connect – and it’s good, _so fucking good_ , Dean will never get tired of being with Cas any damn way he can, but that promise of something a little different is never far from his mind. He wants to… to _try it_ , for real this time.

He’s going crazy just wondering _when_ it’s going to happen – and, on a different level, _how_. Is it up to him to show Cas that he wants that? Does Cas want him to _ask_ for it? It wasn’t that long ago that Dean would’ve rejected the notion outright, but if a little emotional honesty is what it takes to get the ball rolling, he might be more willing than he thought. Or maybe they’ll just fall into it like last time (yet another thing that Dean can’t stop thinking about), only not quite so accidentally. Fuck, is that the way this stuff works? Are they supposed to plan it out or something? Maybe they should have discussed it a little more, Dean thinks, nervousness settling in his gut the longer he dwells on it.

Then one night as they’re heading to bed, Dean’s en route to the dresser to dig out something comfy to crash in when Cas catches him by the wrist. He reels Dean in close, kisses him slow and thorough, pulls back just to look at him, expression thoughtful, thumb tracing Dean’s cheekbone, his mouth.

“Dean,” he says in that tender, solemn way, sparking a surge of affection in Dean’s chest. “I thought perhaps I could—” He cuts himself off, thinking. “If I were to… to take over tonight…” he says slowly, trailing off, but the implication is clear.

Oh, that’s— _oh._ For all that Dean’s been restless with suspense waiting for this very moment, he’s strangely caught off guard by the offer. It occurs to Dean that maybe Cas was waiting for an opportune situation like this, with Sam and Charlie both out of the bunker – likely thinking of Dean’s well-being more than his own – allowing them true solitude without leaving the safety of their own home. Dean’s grateful for the foresight; he doesn’t need any outside distractions or worries getting in the way of this.

“Would you like that?” Cas prompts him after a few beats of silence.

“Yeah,” Dean says with no hesitation, breaking into a smile, couldn’t even feign reluctance here if he tried. “What—” He clears his throat. “What do you want me to do?” he asks, tongue darting out to wet his dry lips, and maybe he should be embarrassed by how breathlessly eager he sounds, but he’s so excited that he might actually be shaking a little.

Cas smirks at him, not unkindly, a look of fond amusement in his eyes at Dean’s enthusiasm. Dean can admit that outright asking for direction before they’ve even begun might be a little over the top, but hey, this wouldn’t work without a certain amount of _willingness to please_ , on his end _._

Cas’s calming touch grounds him, his palm cupping the side of Dean’s neck, voice low and steady. “Just listen to what I tell you,” Cas says. “Can you do that?”

Dean is so up for _listening_ , already knows he’ll do whatever Cas says – within reason, of course, but it’s hardly in Cas’s nature to go beyond reason where Dean is concerned. Cas takes good care of him; Dean knows that much already.

“Yeah,” Dean says again. “I can do that.”

“Good,” Cas replies, enticingly deep, and his approving smile warms Dean to his toes.

For a moment they just look at one another, clearly unsure how to begin. Dean cuts into the silence with a self-conscious chuckle. “So are you gonna ask me for my safeword or something, Mr. Expert?” he teases, needs to lessen the tension a little, even if it’s the _good_ kind, because he feels like he’s already about to fly out of his skin. He’s gonna be wrecked before this even starts.

“Do you have one?” Cas asks without missing a beat, sounding surprised but intrigued.

Oh, shit, he’s serious—and, well, okay, maybe Dean was too, on some level, even though he’d tried to disguise it in a few layers of flippancy and sarcasm. It had occurred to him, off-hand, that that was something they should talk about, but damn, they’re _actually doing this_ and he finds himself floundering for a second because he hasn’t really thought that part through. Maybe he should have done some research of his own.

“I mean—You’d stop if I asked you to, right?” He wants to confirm it out loud, even if he’s sure there’s no way in hell that Cas wouldn’t listen if Dean said he needed to tap out. That’s how he’s always been when they’re together – constantly checking in, making sure Dean’s enjoying himself. Dean can’t imagine that Cas would push him too hard. Unless Dean wanted him to.

“Of course.”

Dean will never understand how Cas can pack so much sincerity into those two words. “That’s…” Dean swallows. “That’ll work then.” It’s probably okay for tonight. “For now,” he adds, unsure of where this boldness is coming from, his fantasies spiraling out of control now. A proper “safeword” doesn’t feel totally necessary at this juncture, but he’s compelled by the idea that it could be, that Cas could get him to a place where it all gets so overwhelming that he could mistake pleasure for discomfort, that he might hiss out a _no, I can’t, please,_ when the last thing he wants is for Cas to stop, trusting Cas to take him further even when Dean thinks he’s at his limit.

“Okay,” Cas says, still smiling.

“Okay,” Dean repeats inanely, huffing out a laugh but quickly sobering because yeah, this… this is a thing that’s about to happen.

Cas’s face goes serious too as he steps closer and squeezes Dean’s hand. “If I ever step out of line, will you tell me right away?”

“I will,” Dean says with a nod, steadily holding Cas’s gaze. “I promise.”

Dean didn’t really think things would be so solemn, but he doesn’t mind. He feels safe being here like this with Cas. They’ve had their trust issues in the past, but they’re in this together now.

And lord knows they’ve kind of done this unofficially before, but now it’s for real, there’s a sense of _formality_ to it, and Dean might’ve thought that would take the fun out of it, the spontaneity, but that couldn’t be further from the truth – setting the tone, establishing that Cas is in charge tonight, that only has his heart pounding in his chest, mind reeling, wondering what Cas has planned.

If he has a plan at all, that is. Dean’s not sure which prospect he likes better – Cas mapping this all out, putting time into _studying_ all the possibilities and how best to utilize them, or just playing things by ear, seeing what kinds of responses he can get from Dean. Knowing Cas, Dean’s ready for a little bit of both. Cas can strategize like nobody’s business, but he’s also no stranger to clever improvisation, and Dean can imagine those skills working together very nicely this evening.

They kiss again, hands leisurely roaming each other’s bodies, before Cas pulls back to look at him. His fingers are firm on Dean’s chin, thumbing his bitten lower lip, giving him a moment to stew before he finally speaks up.

“Take off your clothes.”

That’s familiar territory, something Cas has said before, unthinkingly, when he’s really in the moment. This time, Dean almost struggles to comply, suddenly second guessing himself. Should he undress fast or slow? Where does Cas want him to put his clothes? As he steps back, he decides to split the difference and strip at a moderate pace, letting his clothes fall where they may, leaving him bare to Cas’s expectant gaze, vigilant for further instruction.

Dean just stands there, open to Cas’s scrutiny, longing to reach out to him and close the distance between them but staying put and letting Cas look at him, bolstered by the admiration in his eyes.

The silence drags on a beat too long. Cas doesn’t seem nervous, exactly, more like he’s still finding his footing, testing it out. Maybe, like Dean, he’s strangely apprehensive about something they’ve more or less done before, because he’s so much more _aware_ now. It’s almost more reassuring than if Cas were the perfect picture of unwavering confidence. Either way, Dean can see the spark in his eyes, steadfastly determined to make this good for Dean.

“I want you to lie down on the bed,” Cas says quietly. It’s not phrased like a command exactly, not yet, bordering on uncertain. But Dean knows from experience that Cas is more than capable of inhabiting this role, and he can’t wait for Cas to get into it, to hear that uncompromising steel in Cas’s words.

Dean climbs onto the bed and leans back against the pillows, not sure what to do with his hands, hoping this position is what Cas had in mind. From Cas’s expression, he certainly doesn’t have any complaints. Dean’s spread out and vulnerable and kinda loving it, wondering if Cas wants to watch him like they did last time, feeling himself grow harder at the idea, the memory.

Dean looks on, the silence heady, as Cas undresses. He peels off his shirt and runs his hand down his torso, quirking an eyebrow in amusement as Dean tracks the motion, biting his lip as Cas reaches for his belt. They’ve barely even done anything but Dean feels his arousal start to build rapidly, light-headed just from waiting, from looking at Cas, from _being_ looked at – if he didn’t already suspect he had a slight exhibitionist streak in him, he’s certainly confirming it now.

When Cas is naked he joins Dean, bracing himself over him on the mattress, just gazing down at him. He leans in far enough for their mouths almost touch, and Dean’s dying to close the gap, but he’s not sure if Cas wants him to. If he’s _allowed_.

Cas kisses him only briefly, and it feels like a reward just as much as an unbearable tease. Dean wonders if Cas is… testing him, somehow. If that’s the case, Dean definitely wants to pass. He goes pliant for Cas, relaxing into the sheets, waiting for Cas’s next move. Letting go completely feels so good it’s almost indescribable, trusting Cas enough to hand him the reins. When they kiss again, Dean readily parts his lips for Cas’s tongue, takes everything he offers but doesn’t do anything Cas hasn’t told him to do.

Dean can’t help but get into it with the way Cas’s hand slips beneath him, firmly gripping his ass and guiding them into a rhythm, grinding their erections together until Dean’s panting. When Cas draws back, starts to sit up, Dean follows without even thinking about it, rising from the pillow and chasing Cas’s mouth.

He’s a bit startled when Cas sets his hand on his shoulder and presses him back down onto the mattress, pins him to the pillows with one taut muscular arm and fuck, _fuck_ , that’s so hot. Instinctively, Dean tries to rear up against it, not really trying to escape, just so he can feel Cas shove him back down again. Dean was already aware that Cas was capable of being forceful, but now he’s wielding that tendency with purpose, knowing it does something for Dean and oh, _does it ever._ Cas’s eyes are wild as he stares Dean down, and Dean suspects they’re both shocked by the desire they’re feeling, entranced by the desire they see reflected in one another.

“Stay like that,” Cas says, trying a sterner tone on for size, testing his own limits as much as Dean’s, and Dean doesn’t know what conclusions Cas is coming to but _he_ thinks this suits Cas pretty damn well.

Dean nods in silence and notices he’s fully hard already, cock straining against his belly.

Cas smiles softly and leans in again for a few more lingering kisses, then starts to work his way lower, mouth plush and stubble deliciously scratchy on Dean’s fluttering pulse. His lips graze one of Dean’s nipples, tongue flicking out, teeth bearing down in a sharp bite that leaves Dean gasping. Cas sucks fresh marks into the skin of Dean’s stomach, dipping further down. Dean’s going crazy just from Cas’s breath ghosting over his aching dick. When Cas drops a few feather-light kisses down the length of it, Dean loses whatever tenuous self-control he’s had up until now, and Cas’s powerful hands have to hold him down when he tries to buck into the heat of Cas’s mouth, hands fisted into the sheets. He doesn’t know if he’s not supposed to touch, but Cas said _stay like that_ so he keeps his arms at his sides.

Cas only permits him a brief moment to get himself under control before he takes Dean’s cock into his mouth at his leisure, eyes flicking up to gauge Dean’s reactions, and Dean has to squeeze his own eyes shut, already overwhelmed – the sight of Cas’s lips wrapped around him, the smooth slide of his tongue, working Dean over with such care and tenderness, always so _thorough_.

Too soon, Cas pulls back and kisses along Dean’s hip, leaves another mark on the sensitive flesh of his inner thigh. Dean spreads his legs, holds his breath and hopes that Cas is going to put his tongue to use elsewhere, but Cas apparently has other plans.

He shifts and lies down next to Dean, plastered against his side, teeth delicately scraping along his neck, long fingers wrapping around Dean’s cock. Cas strokes him fast and tight, no mercy at all, slick just from Cas’s mouth and the way Dean’s steadily leaking. The friction’s unbearably good, winding him up real quick, and Dean’s almost sure he’s about to hurtle over the edge—

But oh, _oh,_ then Cas abruptly takes his hand away, and Dean’s thrown off by being left in the lurch, hips twitching up into nothing as Cas runs his hand up and down Dean’s heaving chest, crooning endearments his ear as he settles back down.

Dean’s heart is still pounding as Cas takes his dick in a loose grip, thumbing at the head, trailing his fingers along the length of it almost absentmindedly, not enough to get Dean off but enough to have him writhing again shamefully quick.

“You were getting close,” Cas observes mildly, kissing Dean’s cheek, and it’s true – Cas definitely knows him well enough to tell.

“Yeah,” Dean croaks, and maybe he should be embarrassed to admit how close he was to losing it already, but he’s too far gone to worry about it.

“What if—” Cas attempts, stops short and tries again. “What if I told you that you couldn’t?” he whispers, the slight hesitation creeping back into his voice, as if he’s unsure that Dean will obey, although it’s not like he’s ever had that problem in that past. It doesn’t even occur to Dean not to listen. Cas reaches out with his free hand to cup Dean’s chin, turning Dean’s face towards his. “What if I wanted you to wait?”

“What?”

“Wait,” Cas says, more insistent this time, an _order_. “Until I tell you that you can.”

Dean swallows, suppressing a shiver. He would’ve expected to feel put out by having to hold himself back like that, but with Cas _telling_ him to… “Yeah, okay,” he readily agrees, because that’s reasonable enough. He can do it; he wants to do it.

But then Cas touches him again properly and Dean sucks in a breath, struggles not to thrust up into Cas’s fist. “Tell me if you’re getting close,” Cas rumbles.

“Yeah,” Dean repeats dazedly. “Yeah, oh— _shit_ —”

“Do I need to—”

“Yeah, yeah, _fuck_ ,” Dean gasps, letting out a sob when Cas stops, much closer to the precipice than the first time. Cas gives him a minute to breathe, kissing his temple and stroking his hair.

When he starts up again, Dean barely get the chance to bite out, “Close, _Jesus_ ,” before Cas is backing off and Dean’s left trembling on the mattress, a long whine escaping his throat before he can stop it.

Cas shushes him and kisses his jaw, gently strokes his stomach as Dean strains not to touch himself, not to come. Fuck, he’s right there, it wouldn’t take much at all. It shouldn’t turn him on so much to be so fucking _frustrated._

But Dean gets this game – it’s one he’s engaged in himself, on his own, driving himself to the brink and easing back again, but he’s never given that power to someone else before. He’s always given into his body’s demands before long, never pushed himself as far as he suspects Cas is about to push him. It’s extraordinarily different being at another person’s mercy; it’s never been quite this exciting before, this intense.

Cas starts to give him more of a rest between each pass to calm down, because each time he starts up again, it’s so good that Dean swears he could lose his mind from it. Cas’s touch starts to lose its slickness, the pleasant drag nearing uncomfortable, but then he brings out the lube and it’s so much better but all the more _unbearable_ for it. “Oh, _god_ , fuck, fuck,” Dean hisses, warning Cas just in the nick of time, half-hoping he’d been a split second too late and he’d finally find some release.

Dean can’t stay still anymore when Cas withdraws his hand, rolling onto his side and curling into Cas when he tries to pull away, grasping at Cas’s bicep, at _nothing_ , chest heaving, a whimper irrepressible in his throat.

Cas’s hand rests heavily on Dean’s shoulder as he forces him flat again, shifting onto his knees to straddle Dean’s torso, to pin his wrists down on either side of his head.

“I told you to stay there,” Cas reminds him, stern but serene, and _oh_ , Dean actually moans aloud at the feeling of Cas’s strong fingers rendering him immobile. “You like that,” Cas says with dawning clarity, “When I hold you down. Don’t you?” Dean can only look up at him, wide-eyed, squirming just to feel his grip tighten, which might be answer enough, but Cas still leans in, nosing at his cheek and whispering, “ _Tell me_ ,” in his ear.

Dean’s head is swimming with arousal, with anxiety that has him struggling to reply, to admit that, “Yeah, I like it,” but he does it anyway, and his vulnerability is rewarded with the way Cas hums and kisses him all _pleased_ and yeah, that’s… yeah.

Cas deepens the kiss and resituates himself so their cocks brush together, follows the pressure with slow, dirty rolls his of hips until Dean’s dangerously close again.

Dean tries to keep it together, to focus on his breathing, on the taste of Cas’s mouth, his fingers tight on Dean’s wrists, but he only lasts a few moment before he has to pull away from the kiss, a desperate, “ _Cas_ ,” on his lips.

Cas gingerly extricates himself at Dean’s warning, leaning back so his weight is on Dean’s legs. “Keep your hands there,” he says, not a trace of uncertainty left in his voice. He braces one hand on the headboard and reaches down with the other, taking Dean’s cock in hand again until Dean gasps out _Close_ again, far too soon.

There’s a moment when Dean thinks that it’s too much, that he can’t possibly hold himself in check, but he fights it back because he can _do_ this, he can do what Cas asks.

Cas lets his hand wander up Dean’s ribs and gives his nipples some attention instead, brushing against one with the calloused pad of his thumb, and even that is almost too much – Dean has to plead with him to let up if either of them wants this to last, trembling finely, arms locked above his head, body aching for release but staying where Cas put him, willing himself to relax.

Cas mercifully gives Dean a break, teasing his own cock with the tips of his fingers instead, swiping the fluid beading at the head onto his thumb. Dean watches with undisguised interest, licking his lips, opening his mouth eagerly when Cas offers his hand, lets Dean have a taste. Dean moans when his tongue touches Cas’s skin, and he’s sure that doesn’t escape Cas’s notice, the way Dean chases his hand when he lets it fall away, desperate for any part of Cas filling him up, gaze helplessly drawn to Cas’s enticingly hard cock, wetting his lips again.

But Cas is unmoved by Dean’s lack of subtlety, simply reaches back down and starts to work Dean back up, his touch steady and sure. He doesn’t even need to be told when Dean’s close, just eases off and resituates himself further up Dean’s body, knees tucked up against either side of Dean’s chest, his cock tantalizingly close to Dean’s mouth. Dean tries to part his lips and lean in but Cas threads his fingers through Dean’s hair and grips tight, keeps himself just out of Dean’s reach. Dean whimpers at the tease – he wants to pull Cas closer, dig his fingers into those gorgeous thighs and relish the feeling of Cas sliding hot along his tongue, but he resolutely keeps his hands where they are and doesn’t press his luck.

Only briefly does Cas allow Dean to take his cock into his mouth, just enough for Dean to wrap his lips around the head, to feel how _hard_ Cas is, how he’s so turned on he’s leaking onto Dean’s tongue. Dean’s so glad that he’s not the only one enjoying this, fucking thrilled at that tangible evidence of what this is doing for Cas – he’s still teetering on the edge of orgasm and this isn’t helping him get himself under control one damn bit.

Cas hovers in maddening proximity to Dean’s parted lips, stroking himself, still fisting his hand in Dean’s hair, keeping him in place. The thick muscled legs bracketing Dean’s torso flex rhythmically as Cas tries to keep his balance and _oh,_ he’s so close to tipping over the edge – Dean knows that without a doubt, has seen it countless times, the way his breath hitches, his brow furrowed. Christ, he’s gorgeous.

“I’m going to come,” Cas says, voice finally a bit strained, the deep rasp of it making Dean’s arousal spike. “I could—” he attempts, eyes flicking to Dean’s face. “Do you want me to?”

Dean’s perfectly aware of what that vague question refers to, and he can only make an embarrassing noise and nod, praying that Cas won’t make him ask for it out loud because he’s not sure that he can and oh _fuck_ , he wants it so bad.

But Cas seems too impatient for that now. Dean fixates on the smooth motions of Cas’s hand on his cock and licks his lips in anticipation. He closes his eyes when Cas lets out a strangled gasp, groans aloud at the feeling of Cas’s come landing in thick stripes across his cheek, his mouth, a few stray drops dripping down his chin. Dean opens his eyes to take in the look of ecstasy on Cas’s face, immediately lets his tongue dart out to catch what he can as Cas coaxes out the last feeble pulses.

Cas barely takes a moment to collect himself before he’s shifting further down Dean’s body again, stretching out on top of him. One large hand rests firm and reassuring as he cradles the back of Dean’s neck, leaning down to kiss him filthily. Dean’s crazy for the taste of Cas on _both_ their tongues.

They’re both breathing heavily when Cas pulls back and gazes into Dean’s eyes. Dean gets lost in it for a moment, almost – _almost_ – forgetting that he hasn’t come yet.

“Let me get something to clean you up,” Cas offers gently, cupping Dean’s face and smearing his thumb through the mess on Dean’s chin, sliding it between Dean’s lips. “I’ll be right back.”

Dean feels cold from his absence when Cas slips out of the room, suddenly bereft. He doubts Cas is _done_ with him for the night, but he’s not sure if this is part of it, making him wait here by himself, filthy and vulnerable, or if he’s just taking a moment to cater to Dean’s fastidious side before they continue.

Either way, the suspense is killing him, lying spread out and struggling to keep still, breath shallow. He could reach down and give himself a little relief because Cas left him hanging, whimpering and aching, still riding that razor’s edge of climax, but Cas told him to _stay_ , so he does – rubbing his thighs together, savoring the taste of Cas on his tongue, hands still resolutely in place above his head.

Dean’s sort of out of it when Cas returns, hardly notices his presence until the mattress dips beneath him, Cas’s heat returning to his side. Cas wipes at his face with a washcloth and Dean instinctively leans into his touch, eyes fluttering shut at Cas’s careful ministrations.

When Cas is finished he crowds in close again, cradles Dean’s head in his hands and kisses him. “You haven’t moved your hands,” Cas breathes against Dean’s lips, something akin to _awe_ coloring his tone.

Dean blinks. “You told me to keep them there,” he points out, voice a faint rasp.

“I did,” Cas agrees. “And you did exactly as I asked.” He kisses Dean again, and Dean’s heart nearly stops because the warm note of _pride_ in Cas’s words is… yeah. Wow.

“Cas,” Dean pulls back to whine, “C’mon, lemme—” He fidgets restlessly, sucking in a breath and remembering his _manners_ , that Cas is calling the shots here and he couldn’t be more thrilled about that. “Can I? Please.”

Cas shushes him and smoothes his hair back, presses his lips to Dean’s temple. “Not yet,” he says firmly, straddling Dean’s legs again, pinning him down.

Then Cas’s hand is on him, swiftly driving him to the brink and easing off only to start the process again – then again and _again_ , working Dean through a seemingly endless cycle of blissful stimulation that’s abruptly taken away before it can give him any sort of gratification. Dean’s eyes are screwed shut and he feels tears gathering at the corners, leaking onto his flushed cheeks.

“Look at me,” Cas says, sounding unmoved, but Dean opens his eyes to see absolute fire in Cas’s gaze, an almost protective sort of vigilance – watching out for him but just _watching_ him too, obviously pleased with the sight of Dean writhing beneath him. The fierce resolve is written all over his face, his unflinching desire to see Dean through this, to do it right, give Dean absolutely everything he has to offer.

Dean needs that, the promise of having Cas to rely on, to ground him, because he feels like he’s falling apart, cock throbbing and leaking beneath Cas’s fingers, his every nerve a livewire, about to burst at the seams, and Cas is there to see him through it.

Dean has no idea how long they’ve even been doing this or how much longer Cas intends to go on, has totally lost count of his many times Cas has built him up and denied him. “ _Please,_ ” he gasps when Cas lets go this time, hips attempting to buck up but held down by Cas’s solid body. “Please, Cas, can I come now?” He doesn’t know if begging is what Cas is after, if he wants to break Dean down to pitiful pleas, but Dean can’t help himself anymore, words spilling out before he even has a chance to be ashamed of how needy he sounds – and surprisingly polite considering how his mind’s screaming at Cas to _just let him come already_.

“One more time,” Cas says, sounding almost desperate himself. His palm rests like a brand against Dean’s throat, thumb tracing along his jawline, gaze wild and intent. “You can do that, can’t you?”

It’s as much an insistence as it is a genuine question, an assurance that Dean has the ultimate say in how this goes. “I—Yeah,” Dean says hoarsely, even if he’s not as sure about that as Cas is. For Cas, he can definitely try.

Cas looks pleased again as he wraps his long fingers around Dean’s cock, and Dean doesn’t think he lasts even five seconds, moaning and panting terribly loud by now, choking out _close_ , just before it’s too much. “Fuck,” he gasps, blinking back more tears, hands clenched into fists. “Cas.”

“That was the last time, Dean, I promised,” Cas murmurs, one hand in Dean’s hair, the other wandering up and down his torso in slow, soothing strokes. “You can let go now,” he assures Dean, long fingers wrapping around Dean’s cock in a sure grip. “It’s all right.”

Dean nearly sobs in gratitude just at the idea of it. He expects it to hit him at once now that he’s permitted, but after holding himself back it takes a moment to readjust, to allow the pressure to build. For a second he’s worried he _can’t_ get over that edge after tamping it down for so long, but then Cas whispers his name, lips ghosting along Dean’s jaw, and suddenly the pleasure’s mounting quick and intense and Dean’s almost afraid it’ll be too much for him to handle when it finally boils over.

When Dean comes it’s with Cas’s name on his lips and his fingers flexing above his head, body bowing into a steep curve but ultimately held in place by Cas’s strong legs. He’s vaguely aware of Cas murmuring encouragement to him as he spills over Cas’s fingers – it seems like it goes on _forever_ , wave after wave crashing over him, moaning himself hoarse, streaked with come up to his collarbones.

It’s a slow descent back to earth, and on the edge of his awareness he can hear Cas whispering his name, hushed and reverent, affection and _gratitude_ shining in his eyes, looking, inexplicably, just as overwhelmed as Dean feels.

Cas’s stunned, enraptured expression melts into concern as the aftershocks finally ebb away, leaving Dean lying there boneless and panting. “Are you all right?”

“Dude, I’m…” Dean doesn’t have the words, out of breath and exhilarated, probably grinning like a dope. “Holy _shit_ ,” he concludes, a giddy laugh bubbling up from his throat.

Cas smiles at him, slow and indulgent, and Dean feels arousal spark anew in his belly, even though he’s too wrung out to even consider doing something about it. Cas hums, hand resting against Dean’s neck, thumb tracing along his chin. “That was fun,” he says, a bit smug, but Dean thinks he’s earned that.

“Yeah. _Shit_ ,” Dean repeats emphatically, breaking into another near-hysterical peal of laughter, shoulders shaking, cheeks still damp. “Uh,” he says when he finally calms himself down, “Wow.” He feels floaty, faintly delirious with relief and excitement. Thank god for happy accidents, because he wouldn’t have known how to ask for this and it’s so _good_ , god, it’s so good. It’s what he’s been wanting.

Cas looks Dean over – Dean tracks the movement of Cas’s eyes, glancing down at his own body, taken back by what a _mess_ he is – and smirks in Dean’s direction. “Would you like a shower?” he offers.

“Hell yes.”

Cas urges him to move his arms from their locked position – Dean had hardly even noticed that they were still stubbornly stretched above him – and ushers him out of bed, touch never straying from Dean’s body at they make their way to the bathroom, hands steady on Dean’s back.

Dean’s a bit clingy once they step under the spray, melting into each careful caress as Cas washes him, taking extra care to work out the lingering stiffness in his arms.

By the time they’re dry and dressed and heading back to their room, Dean’s exhausted but sorta wired, fidgety as they finally get into bed. He doesn’t know why it’s hitting him _now_ , lying on the mattress by himself while Cas is still puttering around the room picking up clothes, why he’s suddenly shaky and awkward.

“Dean?”

Dean immediately snaps to alertness, brought out of his daze.

Cas’s worried face softens even further seeing how twitchy Dean is, and he climb onto the mattress beside him, hand cupping Dean’s cheek.

Dean’s immediately grounded by the gesture and he turns his face into Cas’s palm, pressing a grateful kiss there, Cas breaking into a smile when Dean visibly relaxes.

“Liked that,” Dean murmurs after a quiet moment, words still slightly muffled by Cas’s hand, not quite willing to look Cas in the eye yet. He’s not usually so forthcoming about this kind of stuff, but Cas deserves to know that—what he’s done for Dean, how good Cas made it for him.

“I’m glad,” Cas returns, heavy with sincerity, the traces of tension that were stiffening his shoulders easing as well.

Dean reaches out and puts a hand on Cas’s chest, emboldened by the strength and solidity beneath his fingers, letting his gaze meet Cas’s. “Did you like it, Cas?” he asks, because he’s gotta _know_ , isn’t sure he can wholly give himself over to this if Cas is only doing it for his sake.

“I did,” Cas says, placing his hand over Dean’s, and the admission makes Dean’s heart skip a beat. “I liked it very much.”

It’s so easy, then, to get swept up by a wave of anticipation, reassured by the knowledge that this is something they’ll likely do again. “Awesome,” Dean replies with an almost shy quirk of his lips.

“You were beautiful,” Cas adds, somewhat dreamily, and Dean squirms a little, blushing. That’s a compliment he’s learned to accept in stride, to luxuriate in, and he’s only more receptive to it now, filled with a sense of peaceful satisfaction that Cas is happy with him.

It seems like neither of them is ready to sleep yet, so they find something to watch on Netflix, Dean’s head in Cas’s lap instead of the computer, Cas gently running his fingers through Dean’s hair.

Dean doesn’t remember drifting off, but when he wakes up again he’s under the blankets and wrapped in Cas’s arms, face tucked against Cas’s collarbone. Cas stirs in his sleep, hand settling on the small of Dean’s back, reminding Dean that Cas is there for him, even when he’s not fully awake, and Dean burrows closer, clinging to that feeling of safety, lulled back into peaceful rest.

*   *   *

At first, Dean’s worried it’ll be…. weird, or something, now that they’ve started playing around with power dynamics, like it’ll start bleeding into their everyday life. But things between them are the same as they ever were. Cas still follows Dean’s lead during cases or in unfamiliar social situations, never acts like he has a right to _assert his authority_ or tries to take Dean out of his comfort zone.

But behind closed doors – in their bedroom, in a mutually agreed-upon setting – all bets are off.

Cas finds new ways to push him, sometimes stuff Dean would balk at, outright refuse if anyone else dared to suggest it – things that by all accounts should seem humiliating, but it’s never like that, not when Cas is the one asking. Often enough, it’s not all that different than anything they would’ve done before, just with the inescapable knowledge that Cas is most definitely running the show, and Dean couldn’t be happier to let him do so.

Dean’s never been in a position where he felt secure enough to do this kind of stuff, has never trusted someone with his body and his desires and his _secrets_ like he does with Cas. He accepts everything eagerly, so very ready to follow orders – it’s both alarming and not shocking at all how easily this comes to him – and he’s always rewarded for being open to the experience, for permitting Cas to break down some of his walls.

It’s not every time that they do that sort of thing. It’s often enough to be an indisputable part of their routine, but rare enough for Dean to privately think of it as _special_. There are times he craves it almost indecently, his want a gnawing need in the pit of his stomach, but for the life of him, he still doesn’t know how to make himself ask for it, how he’d even phrase it if he found the nerve to say something.

It’s a lucky thing, then, that Cas often initiates, driven by his instinct to dive in head first, to try things out and pursue his findings through every possible avenue. That part of the process is right up his alley, finding Dean’s weak spots and exploiting them in the best possible way, unearthing new things for them to try and then escalating from there, building upon familiar ideas until they’re in untested but irrefutably enjoyable territory.

Like the time Cas decides he’s absolutely determined to make Dean come without a hand on him – he’d been fascinated ever since that time in Missouri, greedy to see Dean do that again, to experiment and improvise until he can replicate it whenever he wants. Dean ends up face down on their bed with three of Cas’s fingers inside him, Cas responding to Dean’s pleas for a hand on his cock with, _just like this, I know you can,_ murmured low in his ear. And that certainly makes it seem like a more attainable goal, with Cas’s voice firm and warm and surprisingly playful, the pressure on Dean’s prostate ruthless until he’s nearly in tears. But when Dean starts babbling about how it’s not enough, that he needs more, Cas seems to change tack, slyly suggesting, “You’ll come from just my fingers inside you or not at all,” and yep—that does it, tips Dean right over the edge, voice caught on a strangled moan, staining the sheets and then collapsing onto the mattress, wondering where the hell Cas learned to say shit like that.

Then there’s the time when Cas spends all day appearing suddenly and crowding into Dean’s space, mouth hot and hands relentless, only to vanish without a word once Dean’s worked up and raring to go. He pulls that little stunt _six times_ over the next several hours, and by evening, Dean’s jumping at shadows, so wound up he thinks he might actually be hallucinating. He’s tempted to just finish himself off but finds himself wanting to keep up with Cas’s game, to follow the rules in the hope that Cas will make it worth his while in the end.

He turns out to be right about that.

Dean knows that they’ve barely been skimming the surface of the things they could get up to together. There’s a number of things to mess around with, props and _accessories_ and, hell, even costumes (Dean’s got some ideas, so sue him.) But it’s amazing how much they’re getting out of this with just Cas wielding his hands, his body, the commanding rasp of his voice. The other stuff’s fun but it’s clear that that’s more than enough. Just them.

Not that Dean isn’t interested in the _other stuff_. He’s not sure if he likes having his hands tied or not – they haven’t really tried – but he definitely likes keeping them in place just because Cas asks, holding perfectly still and trying to be on his best behavior.

Or sometimes Cas keeps him restrained through his own strength, like one afternoon when he’s seated in a chair in the war room, holding Dean’s wrists behind his back as he’s perched in Cas’s lap. Dean’s precariously balanced, wearing nothing but a pair of newly-procured panties – that’s one accessory, at least, that’s managed to make it into the mix; Dean’s more inclined to steal or buy himself a little something now that he’s got Cas to share that with, seeing the hunger in his eyes as he tells Dean how good he looks. Dean’s supposed to get himself off just from grinding against Cas’s thick thigh, and it’s easier than he thought with the way his dick’s straining against the lacy fabric, well worth the burn in his muscles when he finally comes, muffling a sob against Cas’s shoulder.

There are plenty of things that Dean could have predicted he’d be into, but there are some things that never would have occurred to him. One day they’re crowded around the table in a motel kitchenette, treating themselves to some pie from the diner down the block, and Dean’s already very aware that he likes the taste of Cas’s fingers in his mouth, but it’s even better when they’re sticky with apples and sugar, pressing down on Dean’s tongue. Dean’s glad their bed is only a few feet away, because one thing leads to another _incredibly_ quickly.

And then that turns into a whole _thing_ ; one afternoon, Cas corners him in the bunker’s kitchen with a bowl of sliced peaches from the farmer’s market. He coaxes Dean towards the table and pulls out a chair, and Dean readily falls to his knees so he can eat the fruit from Cas’s hand. Inevitably, Cas ends up teasing Dean with his cock between bites and Dean could almost cry with relief when Cas finally slides into his mouth, but just kneeling at Cas’s feet and letting Cas dote on him is exceedingly gratifying on its own which is—huh. Okay then.

And just being told to _wait_ , too. He’d never known what a fucking turn on that could be. Cas ends up bending him over the kitchen table after that, eating him out for what feels like hours but not letting up until Dean’s senselessly pleading, trying to be patient and take whatever Cas will give him. And then when Cas finally fucks Dean he keeps unbearably slow, won’t pick up speed no matter what Dean does – even though Sam’s only going to be out of the house for so long – batting Dean’s hands away when he tries to touch himself or urge Cas to go faster. Dean’s never begged so much in his life.

“What happened to the peaches?” Sam wonders aloud at breakfast the next morning, frowning as he rummages through the reusable grocery bag he left on the counter.

“Dean ate them,” Cas replies, not giving anything away, only looking up from his cereal to give Dean a slow half-smile when Sam’s back is turned.

Dean flushes at the memory, even if he’s sure Sam has no idea of the implications here. If he’s being honest, he likes the reminder. The _secret_.

*   *   *

It’s somewhat casual for a while, more like lighthearted fun – testing each other’s limits, discovering each other’s wants, just having a good time with it, getting off on how there’s still something that feels excitingly illicit about it, that leaves them breathless and smiling and looking forward to indulging again.

But as they start getting more adventurous, further exploring the areas where they’ve found the most success, it’s harder for Dean to ignore the almost astronomical level of intimacy in this, to shy away from the sense of emotional completion, not just physical, that leaves him feeling drained and fulfilled, floaty but still _raw_ – especially after, when the rush of orgasm has faded, his mind still fuzzy but able to focus on something other than spine-tingling bliss, dazed and sated, Cas right there to see him through it.

Tonight’s been a particular taxing session. Cas was dead-set on getting him off as many times as possible before the evening was over. Dean was ready to tap out after coming twice, but being with Cas always makes him want to keep going, to see what he’s capable of, to see Cas’s eyes alight with intrigue and satisfaction. He thinks they were both astonished by the outcome, Cas managing to wring _four_ orgasms out of him in the space of a couple hours. Dean’s a sobbing wreck by the end of it, almost in more discomfort than pleasure but absolutely loving it either way, and Cas is angling for one more round, but Dean’s got to call it off for real this time. Dean’s in disbelief that he managed to even make it to this point, shaking from overstimulation, muscles still twitching.

Cas likes the after part, Dean knows that much – the whole _taking care of him_ thing, putting him back together again after dismantling him so expertly (and okay, fine, Dean likes it too. Kind of a lot.)

Cas holding him close, kissing him softly, that part’s not so different. But in times like these, Dean’s legitimately too slacked out to even attempt to clean himself up, entrusting that task to Cas, drinking the water that Cas brings him, groaning blearily as Cas’s massages away any aches he might have from obediently holding himself in whatever position Cas had asked.

As Cas stretches out beside him on their mattress, he looks like _he’s_ the one who just had his world thoroughly rocked. Cas only came once (that Dean was cognizant of, anyway) and could go for a second round by the looks of it, but he seems unbothered by it, shifting to brace himself over Dean, staring down at him, eyes slightly wide.

“Cas?” Dean manages between panting breaths, confused by the look on Cas’s face.

“You were…” Cas trails off, eyes softening, long fingers grasping Dean’s chin as he leans in for a kiss, whispering against Dean’s lips. “You’re so _good_.”

Cas has always encouraged Dean for doing as he asks, but he’s never really phrased it that way, like he’s commending Dean for his performance, never sounded so _proud_.

The praise his Dean like a ton of bricks. His stomach flips, jarring but not unpleasant, and he lets a choked sound escape his throat, helpless to stop it with how exhausted he is. No one but Cas has ever called him _good_ quite like that, no hint of mocking or irony, with sheer depth of sincerity.

As the initial shock fades, Dean purses his lips and shifts awkwardly; that word doesn’t seem right, not for Dean. He doesn’t want to tell Cas no, though, doesn’t have the energy, eyes darting away from Cas’s too-earnest gaze.

Cas tilts his head. “You don’t think so?”

It’s not like Dean’s done anything special here, nothing that could ever make up for all the shitty things he’s done in his life. “Cas,” he says, plaintive, too burned out and inarticulate to do this right now. He’s already in tears from being absolutely _taken apart_ tonight, and he doesn’t need this surge of emotion on top of it, feeling the lump forming anew in his throat, shaking his head, closing his eyes.

“Okay,” Cas says gently, dropping the matter, at least for the moment, and wrapping Dean up in his arms. “Okay,” he repeats between feather-light kisses to Dean’s cheeks, his temple, the bridge of his nose.

Dean feels a few more tears dampening his eyelashes, grateful that despite Dean’s reluctance, Cas doesn’t apologize or take the words back, that he really _means_ them, even if Dean’s not ready to hear it.

“I understand if you don’t see it,” Cas adds, after a moment. “But you are, to me.”

Dean tucks his face against Cas’s neck, pulling Cas closer, and tries to believe that.

*  *  *

As Dean predicted, Cas doesn’t give up.

One night he puts Dean on his knees on the bedroom floor, mouth open so Cas can slide his cock in, insisting that Dean is _absolutely still_ , doesn’t get greedy with it and try to take more than what he’s given. It’s not easy for Dean to follow through with that demand, vibrating with impatience as Cas fucks his mouth almost lazily, doing his absolute best to hold himself in check until Cas spills down his throat.

But even then, when Cas herds Dean up onto the mattress, Dean’s expected not to squirm, not to thrust down against the bedding, not to arch up into the touch of Cas’s mouth along his shoulders, down his back and lower.

Dean’s trembling, struggling not to lose his grip on his already fraying restraint, when Cas drapes his body over Dean’s, mouth close to his ear. “So good for me,” he purrs, reaching down to tease Dean open with one slick finger, slipping in and out at his leisure, confident that Dean will just stay put and take it, not push back into his touch. “Always so good.”

Dean bristles at the words. He knew Cas would try to revisit that whole thing, but this time he’s still clear-headed enough to protest, wound up and looking for a fight, because that’s so—that’s too much, he doesn’t deserve the admiration in Cas’s voice.

He snorts derisively. “With my track record, I kinda doubt that, Cas.”

Cas winds his fist in Dean’s hair faster than a blink, getting his attention. “You are,” he insists, a slight growl that brooks no argument. “For me you are. When we’re like this.”

That still feels wrong to Dean. He hasn’t earned that, not at any time, and especially not tonight. “I moved when I wasn’t supposed to,” he counters, ashamed to even say it. Cas has had to correct him more than once, nothing harsher than a calm but firm reminder not to move, but that was enough for Dean to silently add each mistake to an ever-growing list of his transgressions.

“That doesn’t matter.”

“Couldn’t even stay still like you asked,” Dean mutters, more to himself now, turning his face into the pillow. _No goddamn discipline_ , can’t even follow simple directions, and Cas is so freakin’ patient with him. Dean falls into self-flagellation so easily, and maybe it seems a little excessive at the moment, but his nerves are always jumbled up when they do this, wires start to get crossed. Cas makes him feel so _much_ , and it’s almost always amazing – the insidious hints of doubt get blown out of proportion when they manage to sneak in.

“ _Dean_.”

Dean just shakes his head. “Cas,” he breathes, verging on desperate, but this is ridiculous. Why can’t Cas just let it go like last time? A pitiful noise escapes him as Cas withdraws his hand, denying Dean the grounding physical stimulation, and flips him onto his back.

Dean tries to avert his eyes, but he can only deny Cas for so long. When their eyes meet, Cas’s intense expression melts into something soft but determined, touch soothing when his fingers card through Dean’s hair again. “To me you are,” Cas reminds him. “I’ve told you this. And I won’t stop telling you until you believe it.”

Cas spends ages kissing every inch of him, his chest, his thighs, the tips of his fingers, murmuring _you’re so good_ between each gentle press of his lips. Dean’s stubborn at first, countering every whispered endearment with a weak protest, insisting _I’m not_ or pleading _Cas, c’mon_ , his words falling on deaf ears.

“Don’t argue with me, Dean,” Cas says with a playful lilt, dropping a kiss on Dean’s hip and snaking his way back up, mouthing at Dean’s throat, taking his cock in hand. Despite Dean’s hang-ups, he’s still so hard he’s leaking onto his stomach. “If you want me to be in control, it’s up to me to decide when you’ve been good, isn’t it?”

Dean can’t find an argument for that, though he certainly tries.

“You can move now, Dean, it’s all right.” Dean hadn’t even realized he’d been perfectly still this whole time. His surprise must show on his face, because Cas adds, “See? So good,” smiling as Dean arches up into his fist.

He keeps repeating it until Dean has no choice but to give in, writhing and panting and on the verge of tears. “ _Okay_ ,” he gasps, clinging to Cas. “Okay.”

He still doesn’t believe it, exactly, but Cas looks so proud of him for trying – and maybe he’s getting a little closer to buying into it. Maybe.

He comes with a sob, Cas’s words ringing in his ears. Cas holds him for a long time afterward, not saying anything. For the moment, he doesn’t need to.

They lie facing one another and settle into a silence, fairly comfortable considering it feels like they’ve taken some kind of _step_ here. Dean’s always amazed to find out that, even with everything he and Cas have been through, there’s more progress for them to make, ways for them to grow closer and forge a stronger bond.

Cas looks at him carefully. “What do you like about this?” he asks bluntly, not accusatory or judgmental, just curious, conversational. His tone’s light, the more serious mood put behind them for now.

Dean thought he’d feel more closed off to a question like that, but he’s more open to this kind of discussion than he would’ve expected. That doesn’t mean he’s any better at articulating why this whole submission thing really does it for him. “It’s uh,” he attempts. “It’s, y’know. Fun. Exciting.” And that’s true, there’s an element of certain things just turning someone on like nobody’s business, in a primal, almost irrational way. There’s definitely more to it than that, though. “I… I dunno how to explain it.”

He’s trying, but this is hard for him, and Cas respects those boundaries too, even as he gently urges Dean to break through them.

Dean takes a deep breath. “I guess it just… It feels good knowing you’ve got my back.” Knowing that Cas will take care of him, that all he has to do is put himself in Cas’s hands, that at the end he can feel like he’s done a good job.

Cas nods, and Dean’s not sure if he can hear all the things that Dean’s left unsaid, but he probably hears enough. He reaches out to rest his palm against Dean’s cheek. “I know that making yourself vulnerable is a lot to ask of you, Dean. I don’t take that lightly.”

“I know you don’t, Cas.” Dean trusts him; that’s a no brainer. “I appreciate that.”

Another moment passes before Cas asks, “Do you want to know what I like about it?”

Dean smiles at the twinkle in Cas’s eyes. “Sure.” If Cas is eager to share, Dean’s happy to listen.

Even Cas needs a moment to think. “I like making decisions and knowing they’re good ones,” he says eventually, slow to start, but more confident by the end of his sentence.

Dean’s taken aback, at first, because it’s just starting to sink in that, with Cas’s history, being in charge might be rewarding for Cas, that he might feel sense of pride in himself too when he’s rendered Dean an incoherent, satisfied mess. It must be a heady sort of confidence, knowing that he could so easily do it again, that Dean trusts him enough to let him try.

“And you—” Cas says, forging on. “You’re so beautiful when you let go, when you allow yourself to give into your desires. Your soul is always so bright then. To be a part of that is…” he trails off, searching for the words. “I feel so in tune with you. So connected.”

Dean feels his face heat up, because leave it to Cas start a casual chat about kinks and then bring _souls_ into it. Dean doesn’t mind, not really, but honestly, it’s hard for him to keep up with that kind of poetic sincerity.

Cas no doubt picks up on that and changes tack, the glint in his eye again. “I like… figuring things out with you.” That part Dean is already _very_ familiar with. “Although—Dean… if there’s something you want, you know you can ask.”

Dean knows that he _can_ ask, in the sense that Cas will be open to whatever he suggests, willing to try just about anything, but Dean actually being able to get the words out is another matter entirely.

“Right now, what I want is to pass out for a while,” he says, deflecting with a short laugh.

But maybe there’s something to be said about communication with this, because Dean can’t deny he’s had some ideas, things that he might want but probably can’t rely on Cas to just think of out of the blue, no matter how convenient that would be, saving him the trouble of actually opening up.

Dean bites his lip. “I’ll think about it, though,” he concedes, and the faint smile on Cas’s face widens.

*   *   *

There are days when Dean isn’t ceding control, not for _real_ , but he’s still aware of that undercurrent of power that Cas carries himself with, goes pliant for Cas’s insistent touches, all too glad to be at Cas’s mercy.

Today’s one of those days. They sneak off to the motel room in the middle of working a case with Sam, and Cas gets them both undressed in record time, flopping onto the bed and pulling Dean down to straddle him. He stays flat on his back as they grind against each other, movements sloppy and urgent, but his hands are everywhere, pinching a nipple, sweeping along Dean’s thighs, up his back and back down again. They keep wandering to Dean’s ass and resting there almost possessively, grip uncompromising as he guides Dean’s near-frantic rocking motions into a deliberate rhythm.

Unbidden, an image floods Dean’s mind – Cas using a sharp _smack_ to goad him into action – and he gasps aloud, pitching forward, hips bucking.

It’s not the first time he’s thought about it. Normally, he’s hasty to bury that inclination before he can dwell on it, but right now, Dean lets himself get lost in the fantasy, dipping down to kiss Cas, whimpering into his mouth as the pleasure spikes just from the ideas circling his mind, coming sudden and _loud_ almost the instant Cas gets a hand on his dick. Dean fumbles to reciprocate, embarrassed by how quickly he got off, by the secret thrill still coursing through him.

Dean kisses Cas as he reaches his climax and for a long time afterwards, rearranging his limbs so he’s more comfortably sprawled on top of Cas, just lazily enjoying the softness of his mouth now that they’ve taken the edge off.

But Cas’s hands are still indulgently roaming Dean’s body, travelling down his back and resting where Dean can so easily imagine one unyielding palm coming down _hard_ , leaving a nice red mark, and Dean breaks away abruptly at the thought, closing his eyes.

“Dean? Are you all right?”

Dean opens his eyes at Cas’s question, not realizing he’s chewing his lip until he releases it, self-conscious over the way Cas is studying his face. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Cas is kind enough to tone down his look of skepticism. “You seem like you have something on your mind.”

Dean finds himself in a familiar debate, knowing that Cas probably won’t push him if Dean really doesn’t want to get into it, but also knowing that the benefits of talking about it might actually outweigh whatever brief, possibly imagined humiliation he has to endure.

Everything they’ve tried so far has been an unparalleled success, in Dean’s opinion, but the more they get involved in these little forays, the more Dean’s forced to admit that there really _are_ things he’s been itching for that Cas hasn’t brought up, might not ever even attempt if Dean doesn’t intervene.

“You said—” Dean pauses to take a deep breath. “You said I should, uh, talk to you if there’s something I, y’know. Something I wanna do.”

Cas hums in acknowledgment, leans up for another brief kiss. “Is there?” he asks, as patient as ever, looking at Dean intently, running a hand up and down his spine.

“Yeah,” Dean admits on a breath, before immediately backpedaling. “I mean—I dunno. Maybe?”

Cas is silent, just waits, tilting his head and smoothing his fingers through Dean’s hair.

Dean calms further from Cas’s touch, and, well, he figures this is about as relaxed as he gets, sated and wrapped in Cas’s embrace, so he might as well try to spit it out – because Cas has taken to the whole power play thing and then some, Cas has seen him wear flimsy panties and has been encouraging and _into_ it, and lately, Cas has been reminding him of the rest of that particular wild night when Dean was nineteen, not just the pretty pink undergarments but the other part, the part that he’s never mentioned to Cas.

Dean lets his forehead drop onto Cas’s chest for a moment, steeling himself before continuing, trying his damnedest to hold Cas’s gaze. “Did I ever tell you about… Rhonda Hurley?”

Okay, maybe that’s not being entirely direct. Dean knows for sure he’s never mentioned her name to Cas, or most of the details of his time with her, but what he doesn’t know is if Cas has managed to clue himself in through other means, how deep Cas’s knowledge of Dean’s personal history goes from a time when he had enough mojo to see right through Dean in more ways than one, if that’s the kind of background information Cas would’ve been interested in delving into.

Cas reaches out to frame Dean’s face between his hands, giving Dean his complete focus, which is still kind of a lot to handle, even at the best of times. “I’d like to hear about her,” Cas says, tone neutral, giving nothing away. Dean reads between the lines; even if Cas already does know, he wants to hear Dean explain it.

Dean would be disgruntled about being put on the spot like that but, okay, fine, he was the one who brought it up. “Right, well,” he attempts, “She was the one with—with, uh. With the _panties_ ,” he mumbles. There’s no real way to phrase that delicately.

Cas just smiles, fuck, apparently pleased by the idea, by memories of himself and Dean together.

“Yeah,” Dean soldiers on, “And, um. Well she—like. It wasn’t just that, we um—after I… put ‘em on, she…” Maybe this is harder than he thought it would be. “Listen,” he says, changing tack. “You remember the, uh… the _pizza man_ , right?” Dean can’t believe he’s bringing this up. “You asked why he was…” Dean can’t really bring himself to describe it the way Cas did at the time – or any other way, at the moment – praying that Cas’s unfathomably long memory hasn’t deemed that moment too insignificant for storage. Dean obviously found it memorable enough.

Cas had, uh… _reacted_ to that video, because he’d, what, been into it? It was more absurd and vaguely uncomfortable than anything else, at the time, but it’s not an unpleasant thought now, especially if that’s something Dean wants – it would be awesome if Cas gets a kick out of it too.

Understanding dawns on Cas’s face, and he looks at Dean carefully. “I remember,” he says, and leaves it at that, still not giving Dean a fucking inch.

“Dammit, Cas,” Dean mutters, face burning. “You know what I’m talking about, right?” Cas has done his research in this area, Dean’s sure of it. His thirst for knowledge always goes into overdrive with this kind of stuff and there’s no way _that_ didn’t come up. It’s practically cliché.

“I think I do.”

Dean nearly deflates with relief when he notes that Cas is being genuine. He _does_ get it. Dean sucks in a breath, embarrassment and frustration giving way to excitement now that they’ve gotten on track. “Right, so—”

“But I’m not sure we should do anything that you can’t even bring yourself to talk about,” Cas interrupts, not belittling or mocking him, just expressing a sincere concern – and a valid one, admittedly.

“I _want_ to,” Dean says before he can hold himself back, all too aware of how petulant, how desperate he sounds. But it’s a truth he can’t even try to deny now – the first time, he’d been almost too stunned and overwhelmed to even register how much he liked it, but he couldn’t stop thinking about it afterwards. He definitely can’t stop thinking about it now.

“I know,” Cas says gently. It wasn’t too long ago that Dean would’ve thought that Cas wouldn’t understand something like this, but Cas has been so supportive, so enthusiastic about all of it, that Dean can’t help but ask for more. “But I have to be sure,” he says, one hand sliding down Dean’s back to his ass and resting there. “I need you to tell me.”

The idea of it’s burning Dean up inside, Cas’s broad, perfect hand already feeling like a brand against his skin. He remember what it was like just with Rhonda’s delicate, feminine touch – he can’t even imagine how it’ll feel with Cas’s rough palms pinking him up. “Cas,” he mumbles, squirming beneath Cas’s fingers.

“What do you want, Dean?” Cas asks, not trying to tease, just warm and encouraging.

Dean braces himself and hides his face against Cas’s chest again, finds his voice on a shaky exhale. “ _Hit me_.”

Cas complies before Dean even has a chance to think about it, and then Dean’s gasping, breath hitching as Cas strikes him with an open palm. It’s not exactly painful, more experimental than anything, but the shock of it, the sound, the _potential_ send Dean’s mind reeling.

“Like that?” Cas asks, fingers delicately tracing the back of Dean’s neck, and Dean can tell he’s legitimately seeking confirmation, making sure he’s giving Dean what he wants.

“Yeah, _shit_ ,” Dean slurs, nearly incoherent from just one smack.

“Again?” Cas sounds a bit unsure, but his fingers are already wandering back down Dean’s spine.

Dean can only whimper in affirmation, arching into Cas’s hand, moaning aloud when he’s struck again, harder than the first time.

He’s so close to begging for another, twitching into it as Cas massages the almost imperceptible sting away, when Cas speaks up again. “We should… stop for now.” It’s almost a question, not exactly an insistence on Cas’s part – it sounds more like he’s checking in, making sure that they’re on the same page.

And as much as Dean wants to keep going, he has to admit that this might not be the best time. “Yeah,” he agrees, with some reluctance. It’s too sudden, too unplanned. He wouldn’t mind better circumstances when they do this for real, to be in their own bed, riding high on arousal – not that he thinks it would take him that long to get there. God, it’s just as good as he remembers, and he’s so _tempted_ , but they don’t have much time for this right now either. Hell, they’re probably already late to meet Sam at the sheriff’s station.

“Another time,” Cas assures him, and the promise in his voice sets off sparks in Dean’s belly. “If you want that.”

Dean picks his head up to look Cas square in the eye. “ _Yes_ ,” he says, leaving no room for misinterpretation now that he’s feeling bold enough to say it. “Fuck, I want it.”

Cas gives him a slow heated smile that means he wants it too.

*   *   *

They’ve gotten into more of a groove with this, deciding when it’s the right time for one of _those_ nights. Cas offers often enough, like the first time, blurting out some new discovery he’s itching to put into action. Sometimes Dean gets impatient, gives in and just goddamn asks for it, albeit in terms no more explicit than a furtive _can we?_ murmured to Cas at an opportune moment. Cas is always happy to oblige.

Dean suspects that Cas will initiate this time, now that the seeds of that particular idea have been planted, knows that Cas is probably gathering information, making sure that they do this right, will come to Dean when he’s ready. Dean can try to be patient.

It’s not much later that Cas slips up behind Dean one morning while he’s making breakfast, hands framing Dean’s hips, nosing along the side of his neck. Dean’s just melting into his embrace when Cas says, “How about tonight?” breath hot against his ear.

Dean tightens his grip on the spatula, sighs out a _yeah_ as Cas’s lips meet his throat. Cas hums in response before he’s suddenly gone, off and pouring himself a cup of coffee like nothing happened.

Dean clears his throat, shifting awkwardly on his feet, and flips the pancakes before they burn.

It’s just been the two of them in the bunker for a few days, so maybe Cas had been waiting for the opportune moment. Dean’s past the point of needing perfect solitude for this stuff, but he doesn’t mind a little extra privacy when it’s something like this, something _new_. It helps him let go.

Of course, now that the suggestion’s been made, any patience Dean had been trying to rally promptly flies out the window. They keep crossing paths as they go about their separate business during the day, and Dean can scarcely resist the urge to grab Cas by the arm and ask if they can just _get on with it_ already. They’ve got the whole damn place to themselves – the hell do they have to wait for? Of course, Dean knows from experience that Cas making him wait is probably a part of it.

Finally, after they have dinner together, the atmosphere almost unbearably charged, Cas makes his move. He corners Dean at the kitchen sink the second the table is cleared, his hands slipping under Dean’s shirt, mouth passionately pressed against Dean’s. “Let’s go to the bedroom,” he suggests, lips grazing Dean’s jawline.

A thrill shoots through Dean’s body, his fingers tightening in Cas’s collar, but he still pauses, sneaking a glance at the dishes piled in the sink behind him.

Cas’s sharp eyes don’t miss a thing, and one of his hands curls under Dean’s chin. “That can wait,” he implores, voice still soft, not a definite order yet, in case Dean’s really gonna be insistent about doing the damn dishes first, but Christ, the choice here is obvious.

Dean takes hold of Cas’s hand and lets himself be pulled away from the counter, out of the kitchen and towards their room.

Cas closes the door behind them, despite the fact that they’re entirely alone, gives Dean that sense of security, preserving the sanctity of their bedroom. He kisses Dean fiercely, has that _look_ in his eye when he pulls back to study Dean’s face, fingers sliding through his hair in a firm grip – not tight enough to hurt, but enough for Dean to feel it, for Cas to make sure that he’s got Dean’s full attention.

“Do you still want to?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Dean says, with as much emphasis and conviction as he can manage. He knows that Cas needs him to be absolutely clear about his desires here, and he wants to leave no room for misinterpretation.

Cas smiles faintly in acknowledgement, rests a hand on Dean’s shoulder and gives it a reassuring squeeze. “I’m going to sit down on the bed,” he says calmly. “I want you to undress for me and lie face down across my lap. All right?”

Dean’s familiar with this routine by now, Cas checking in at the beginning to make sure Dean’s up for whatever he’s offering – and if he is, Cas won’t be slowing down unless Dean asks him to, will fluently rumble out instructions with the assumption that they’ll be obeyed, and that’s just the way Dean likes it. Cas is rarely hesitant with his commands anymore, but he’s never harsh or pushy, just relaxed in the certainty that Dean will follow, will inform him the moment he feels anxious. The confidence that Cas has come to adopt when they’re together like this is as much a comfort for Dean as it is an enormous turn-on.

Dean watches with interest as Cas strips down to his underwear and sits down at the foot of the bed. God, he looks good – the expanse of tan muscle revealed to Dean’s greedy eyes, the self-assured set of his shoulders, the expectant but patient arch of his eyebrow. Dean tosses his own shirts on the floor, tries not to trip over his jeans and boxers as he steps out of them, leaving himself bare for Cas’s perusal, meeting his gaze a bit awkwardly, trying to figure out the best way to _assume the position_.

Dean obviously knew where this was all going but it really sinks in once he’s haltingly crawled into place, draped across Cas’s strong thighs, hands already fisted in the bedding. Christ, Cas is… Cas is going to _spank him_ , because Dean likes it, because he asked for it, and Dean’s so excited and so grateful he’s already trembling finely, pressing his face against the mattress.

“Okay?” Cas asks, voice low, rubbing Dean’s back in long, soothing strokes. Dean could almost drift off if he weren’t strung tight from anticipation, makes a vague noise of assent in response to Cas’s question. “Are you nervous?”

“Kinda,” Dean mumbles. He feels a little silly and a lot vulnerable – he did with Rhonda too, and yeah, he may be a lot more comfortable with Cas, but it’s still a bit nerve-racking to be doing this because _he_ wants it, instead of entertaining Rhonda’s whims. “…In a good way, though,” he adds, reminding himself that the thudding of his heart, the tension settling in his belly, are only part of what makes this so rewarding in the end.

Cas _hmms_ in response, his rough palm a grounding weight along Dean’s spine. “If you change your mind…”

“I’ll let you know,” Dean promises. “Definitely not changing my mind right now, though,” he admits, surprisingly unabashed about his own eagerness.

“Are you ready then?” Cas asks, smile audible in his words as he lets his hand drift lower.

“Fuck,” Dean says articulately, squirming as Cas palms his ass, “Should I—” he chokes out, “Should I, uh… like, count them?” he mutters, the idea popping into his head and flying out of his mouth before he can stop himself, images springing to mind before he can tamp them down – he’s been doing a bit of research of his own too, likely less academic than Cas’s.

If Cas is thrown off by the question, he doesn’t let on. “That won’t be necessary. Not tonight,” he replies smoothly. “I had no particular number in mind,” he admits. “I thought we would keep going until one of us is ready to stop.”

“Oh.” It hadn’t occurred to Dean that Cas might need to call it quits before he does.

“Unless you’d prefer that I ask you to count?” Cas asks tentatively, feeling him out – it wouldn’t be the first time Dean had felt the urge for more direction, more _rules_ , wanting so badly to do things right, even if he was hopeless at expressing that.

“No that’s—good, sounds good.” Dean probably doesn’t have the focus for any extra demands tonight, already struggling to form sentences before anything has even happened, cock growing harder against Cas’s thigh.

“Good,” Cas confirms, palming Dean’s ass. “I’m going to start now, then.”

A whispered _yeah_ has barely passed Dean’s lips before Cas raises his hand and brings it swiftly back down again. The sensation almost doesn’t register right away, Dean just as taken aback as last time by the _sound_ of it, immediately punctuated by his own startled, breathy moan. Cas wastes no time in following up with another sharp smack to the other cheek, and Dean muffles a moan and a curse against the bedspread.

It doesn’t quite hurt on impact, at first, and Dean suspects that Cas might be going easy on him. A plea for Cas to give it to him _harder_ is on the tip of his tongue, but it’s driven further from his mind as Cas continues, as Dean’s skin starts to feel hot and sore with each successive strike. The feeling amplifies with each passing second, a strangely pleasant pain settling in, leaving Dean gasping, overwhelmed.

“Good?” Cas asks, pausing to knead the sensitive flesh with his fingers, soothing the sting and aggravating it all at once, his other hand between Dean’s shoulder blades, keeping him anchored.

Dean stifles a vehement protest over Cas stopping and makes an incomprehensible noise of agreement instead – yeah, _definitely_ good. “You can—” A whimper escapes him as he pushes into Cas’s hand, grinding his aching dick against the gratifyingly solid muscle of Cas’s leg. “Keep going.”

Cas does exactly that, the motions of his hand unyielding and precise. He falls into a rhythm only to break out of it again; sometimes a few strikes are deliberate and _hard_ , Dean reeling from the impact, whining low in his throat, tensing as Cas maddeningly makes him wait for the next smack. Sometimes Cas switches things up with a group of quick, light swats, the cumulative sting more than enough to get Dean panting, groaning weakly.

Dean cranes his neck to sneak a glance over his shoulder, catching sight of how _pink_ he’s turning from Cas’s hand, face instantly flushing deeper to match. He lets out a broken moan watching Cas’s palm make contact with his ass, the noises escaping Dean’s lips growing louder as he lets surrenders to it. He closes his eyes again, overcome.

“You love this,” Cas rumbles, pausing to stroke the sore skin of Dean’s ass again. His dirty talk is always just a bit offbeat – the words are more or less the same but without the typical corny sleaze, colored with an odd sort of sincerity and reverence. “I can feel how hard you are.”

Being reminded of his own arousal brings Dean back into focus a little, noticing the way his cock is straining and leaking as he thrusts into the friction offered by Cas’s firm flesh beneath him, feeling the building pleasure in his gut suddenly coiled tight as he chokes out Cas’s name.

“Can you come just like this?” Cas asks, hushed and heated and intrigued.

Dean’s not sure, actually, but— “I did with Rhonda,” he admits on a breath. He’s mostly trying to be honest, but if it has the added effect of playing to Cas’s competitive streak, that wouldn’t be the worst thing.

“Hmm,” Cas replies, and Dean can tell that he’s taken the bait. “I think you can,” he muses, determination evident in the way he caps off his words with a single loud smack.

Any capacity for coherence has finally left Dean, and he can only nod in response, rutting more urgently in Cas’s lap.

“That’s it, Dean,” Cas says, encouraging Dean’s movements with a confident touch, cock hard against Dean’s thigh. “Take what you need.”

What Dean needs is for Cas to spank him again, and he gasps _please, please, please_ in a desperate litany, but Cas is already giving him more, still switching up the pace and force of his strikes just enough to keep Dean on his toes.

“You take this so well.”

That kind of praise from Cas is nothing new at this point – or it shouldn’t be, at least, but it still makes Dean tingle with a mix of exhilaration and embarrassment, a heady combination that makes him want to shy away.

And Dean’s a little surprised by how he’s handling this too. He keeps reaching a point where he thinks it’s all too much, but then the pain shifts, transforms into something brighter and more enticing, something akin to bliss. He lets himself be driven a little higher, to some place beyond the physical sensation where he slips out of his head, his own pleas and whines sounding far away, writhing under Cas’s hands, twitching with each strike, and he absolutely _cannot get enough_ , taken under by a rush that defies description, leaves his eyes stinging.

“Do you need a break?” Cas asks, pausing to run his hand over the crown of Dean’s head. Dean twists around enough to look at Cas, and he can see the concern there, the tips of his fingers wandering down to brush away the tears on Dean’s cheeks.

“No,” Dean says, without hesitation, “No, don’t stop now, I—oh, _fuck_ ,” he moans, burying his face in his folded arms again, shamelessly rocking his hips as Cas gives his ass another squeeze, chasing the pressure beneath him, arching into Cas’s hand. His touch is almost blisteringly intense now – Dean can feel every rough callous and something in him breaks in the best possible way, his vision blurring, cheeks damp, nearly out of his mind with it when Cas’s palm comes down hard on the oversensitive skin of his upper thigh.

This is what it’s all been about – a true feeling of surrender, the power willingly given up to someone who can handle it, being relieved of that burden of control. Dean feels _free_ , utterly safe and totally cared for, all the things he couldn’t articulate to Cas or even to himself suddenly so much clearer. He’ll have to tell Cas, someday, try to explain what this actually means to him, but right now that’s just too much to ask of him in his overstimulated state.

“Cas,” he gasps, a plea as much as a warning, finding himself right on the edge.

“That’s it, Dean,” Cas repeats, almost comically put-together compared to what a frantic mess Dean is right now. “That’s it,” he murmurs, gentle words interspersed with the swift, repeated impact of his hand.

Dean is barely aware that Cas is even saying anything, focus narrowed down to physical sensation, shifting his position until he finds an angle that makes him sob in pleasure, the fire building in his abdomen about to burst. One more strike is all it takes, every muscle tensing as he comes against Cas’s thigh, groans muffled in the crook of his elbow, Cas’s hand firm on the base of his spine.

Cas gives him a minute to collect himself, rubbing Dean’s back, whispering soothing words that Dean can only partially make out. Dean’s still trying to parse the way he feels right now – sort of floaty, drained but strangely energized, a high that’s not unfamiliar but beyond what he’s experienced so far, beyond what he can even comprehend. Reality starts to trickle back in and _shit_ , he kinda can’t believe they actually did that.

But the expected shame never comes, doesn’t stand a chance of taking over while Cas’s capable hands are still on him, steady and reassuring.

Eventually, Cas gets them both maneuvered into a more comfortable position, lying against the pillows. Dean doesn’t need any further urging to fit himself into Cas’s arms. He’s well aware that he’s clinging, but he knows that Cas doesn’t mind, will remain a steady presence for Dean as long as he needs.

Dean turns his face and presses his lips against Cas’s collarbones, his chest, as if that distracts from the way Dean’s trembling against him. It’s not just that, though – he wants to make Cas feel good too, even if he can’t begin to adequately repay everything that Cas has done for him. “Hey,” he says, voice muzzy as his fingers wander to the waistband of Cas’s boxers, “You want me to…?”

But Cas gently takes his hand away, lifting it to his mouth and kissing his knuckles, and even after everything they’ve done tonight, Dean still feels himself blush at the tenderness of the gesture. “Later,” Cas says simply.  “Let me take care of you.”

There was a time when Dean would have a complex about leaving a partner ostensibly unsatisfied, but Cas making it an order gives Dean the freedom to go along with it, to not balk at being put first even though he’s already gotten off.

Cas hands him a water bottle that he’d stashed in the nightstand and makes sure Dean drinks before coaxing him onto his stomach.

Dean glances over his shoulder again, almost taken aback by the state he’s in, the deep, ruddy color staining his skin. “Jesus,” he mutters reflexively, although it looks worse than it felt – the physical sensation almost transcended pain, for the most part, though he may be changing his tune as he recovers from the flood of endorphins.

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Cas’s brow furrow. “I wasn’t too rough, was I?”

Dean snorts. “Definitely not,” he says promptly, turning to face Cas as he stretches out next to Dean, so Cas knows that he means it.

Cas’s mouth quirks up on one side. “I wasn’t too _gentle_ , was I?”

“Nope,” Dean says with a laugh. He closes his eyes, sinking further into a pillow with a contented sigh. “Got it just right. Gold star for you.”

Cas hums as he leans in to kiss the back of Dean’s neck and yeah, there it is, that hint of pride and self-satisfaction. Dean likes the sound of it.

Dean feels Cas’s palms settle on his skin, massaging the tense muscles in his back and shoulders. _Fuck_ , that’s good. Why doesn’t Cas do this for him more often? Dean’s sure he would if Dean only ask him, and yeah, okay, that’s something to think on. Cas even goes as far to _rub lotion_ where Dean’s still pink and smarting from Cas’s hand, which is all kinds of embarrassing, but it does feel pretty nice, and he’ll probably be thanking Cas in the morning. He wants to thank Cas right now, actually, for a lot of things, but he’s too raw to summon up the words right now. He knows Cas gets it.

When Cas lies down on the bed beside him, Dean finds the energy to crawl between his legs, a hand on Cas’s knee and sliding higher, licking his lips, provocative and deliberate. He looks up at Cas. “Can I?” he tries again, more insistent this time. He’s earned this, dammit.

“I’d like that.”

Dean suspects that, although Cas is hardly opposed to the idea, he’s more or less indulging Dean at this point. But he still gets into it, lets Dean know that he’s desired, murmurs a stream of praise and compliments that Dean soaks up eagerly, Cas hot in his mouth, Cas’s hands wound in his hair, feeling a renewed sense of fulfillment when Cas finally spills onto his tongue.

Afterwards, right as they’re about to drift off, Dean asks, “Did you like it, Cas? Before?” just a whisper into the scant space between them.

Cas reaches out to caress Dean’s cheek. “I did.”

“Awesome,” Dean slurs, leaning into Cas’s touch, the edges of his vision already going fuzzy with sleep. “That’s awesome.”

*   *   *

Dean wakes to Cas’s fingers threading through his hair.

“Dean? I thought I might go start the coffee.”

Last night must’ve really taken it out of him if Cas is up before him. “Not yet,” he mumbles, too sleepy for any kind of verbal filter, tightening his arm around Cas’s middle and pressing his nose to Cas’s ribs, trying to burrow closer.

“Okay,” Cas concedes with a chuckle, kissing the top of Dean’s head.

They doze for a while, and when they finally make it to the kitchen, Cas insists on making Dean breakfast. Dean usually handles that – not that Cas is incapable, Dean’s just more practiced and interested in the whole production – but he manages not to interfere or offer pointers. This is only another way he trusts Cas to do right by him. Cas obviously wants to spoil him today, and Dean’s in a place where he can let himself actually _enjoy_ it, feeling like he’s worth something after all, if someone like Cas cares about him so much.

Dean sits at the table – gingerly, mindful of residual aches, secretly thrilled by the tangible reminder. Cas watches him, somehow both sympathetic and smug at once, and puts a plate of eggs in front of him that he has zero complaints about.

After they’ve eaten, Cas clears away their dishes and lingers by Dean’s chair. “How are you feeling?” he asks when Dean turns to him, wrapping his arms around Cas’s middle.

Dean buries his face in the soft fabric of Cas’s shirt, breathing his scent, sinking into his comforting warmth. “Really good,” he sighs, looking up at Cas. “I mean, y’know, a little uh. Sore,” he adds with a self-conscious chuckle, cheeks heating up. “But… really good.” He closes his eyes briefly, leaning into when Cas frames his face between his hands, and tries to hold Cas’s gaze again, tries to drum up the courage to voice the gratitude he couldn’t find words for last night. “I wouldn’t do this with just anyone, you know. Thanks for—” he searches for a way to phrase it, and comes up empty – “not being weird about it.” He takes a deep breath and finds more courage. “Making sure it’s good,” he adds in a mumble under his breath, face burning again.

Cas smiles softly. “Thank _you_ for allowing me to share this with you.”

It used to throw Dean off a little, Cas thanking _him_ after stuff like this, but he gets it now. It’s a two-way street; it’s something that makes Cas feel good too.

Cas spares him from needing a response, perhaps sensing that Dean’s reaching his limit for emotional honesty. “What would you like to do today?” he asks, thumb tracing the line of Dean’s cheekbone.

Dean considers it, makes a mental list of all the things he needs to get done. “Gotta get to those dishes from last night, at some point. And I should probably see if Sam needs any help with his case.”

Cas gives him a look, fond and exasperated. “I’ll take care of the dishes. And Sam will call if he needs something from you.” He cradles Dean’s jaw, tilting his face up to look him in the eye. “My question was, what would you _like_ to do?”

And yeah, that’s Dean’s issue sometimes, differentiating between what he wants, _truly_ wants, and what he feels like he simply has to do – to stop the world from falling apart, to keep up appearances, because his dad told him to. It’s a long, well-worn list of roles he needs to play, duties to take on, burdens to bear. But lately he’s been learning how to be himself, how to put his needs first. He’s got Cas to thank for a lot of that.

And yeah, he doesn’t really want to spend a whole day of alone time with Cas doing chores and suffering through research. “I wanna lay around and watch TV,” he admits after a beat. “With you.” He slept like a rock but he still feels like he could use a nap, or at least an excuse to curl up with Cas for a while.

Cas’s smile widens. “We can do that.”

“And I wanna eat that ice cream that’s been sitting in the freezer.”

“Cookie dough or mint chocolate chip?”

“Both,” Dean says with a grin. “Fuck it, why not, right?” It’s new for him, feeling like… like it’s okay to want things, like Cas said, even something as frivolous as choosing couch time over his less pressing responsibilities, the stupid shit he denies himself because he thinks he’s supposed to.

Dean laughs and feels free, feels joyous as he pulls Cas down for a kiss, reveling in that inescapable sense of rightness and completion he feels when they’re together, one that he’s still settling into bit by bit, but more than willing to fight for.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic took forever and got way out of hand. Hope it turned out okay. Thanks for reading <3
> 
> Find me on [tumblr](http://sass-master-stina.tumblr.com).


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